If Heaven is as Heaven Does (Then This is Hell for Sure)
by Winter Enchantment
Summary: Varian and Lor'themar meet and hit it off. For the Warcraft Kinkmeme: After an annoying encounter with Garrosh, Varian heads to a small cave in the mountains to cool off, without his royal guard. When he gets there, he finds a lone Lor'themar, who's also annoyed at Garrosh. Either way, the two of them bitch together about Garrosh as politically correctly as they can. Explicit.


After the fall of the Lich King, the Argent Tournament turned from a defiant honing of skill right at the doorstep of Icecrown to a true celebration. Varian was constantly amazed at the resilience of people, and seeing such open joy and fellowship amongst the Alliance was heartening in ways he hadn't imagined. Of course, on the flipside was the Horde doing the same, but in the face of such a victory Varian felt as though it could at least be tolerated.

He had been attempting to avoid having to interact with anyone from the Horde in an effort to preserve that idea, and had so far been successful. It seemed, however, that he could never be entirely lucky; he should never have come to sit by the fire in one of the great public tents. The Alliance Pavilion may have been colder, but at least he wouldn't have had to deal with the awful certainty that he would be forced to be sociable. Watching a very distinguished Sin'dorei man enter the tent trailed by attendants and seeing Tirion Fordring move to greet him presented Varian with the undeniable conclusion that soon he would have to be pleasant. The paladin had been conspiring with Jaina, and the two had been annoyingly attempting to promote better relations between the Alliance and the Horde. He was proven right when Tirion swept the tent with his eyes while leading the elf in.

"Varian!" the paladin called. Leading the Sin'dorei through the tent with purpose, Tirion looked as though he was again on his self-appointed mission to force Varian into being open-minded.

"Varian," Tirion said again, gesturing at the elf, "may I present Lord Lor'themar Theron. Lord Theron, this is King Varian Wrynn." The paladin smiled at both of them. Varian took comfort in the fact that the elf looked about as pleased at Tirion's introduction as he did.

"Lord Theron," Varian bit out, "a pleasure, I'm sure." He recognized the Sin'dorei Regent now, the eyepatch and distinctive scar giving him away even if he was wearing plain mail and leathers with a heavy cloak instead of the regalia he had been in when Varian had last seen him. Etiquette dictated that he stand and offer his hand; Varian grudgingly did so. The Regent pulled off a heavy glove before grasping Varian's hand and replying, "King Varian, the pleasure is mine."

There were sword calluses on the elf's hand—despite the ridiculous lacquered nails the Sin'dorei considered fashionable—in a slightly different pattern than archery or the two-handed sword belted at the Regent's waist suggested. Despite himself, Varian was curious; looking up at the elf he asked, "Lord Theron, I had heard you were a ranger, isn't a sword a bit unusual?"

Tirion smiled at him again from over the Regent's shoulder, doubtlessly pleased that Varian was attempting to socialize in a civilized manner, before turning away and catching someone else in conversation. The Regent seemed to consider his question before replying, "The bow is the most common weapon for a ranger, yes." He paused and gestured to the chair across from Varian's. "Would you mind?" Varian shook his head and retook his seat, the Regent lowering himself into the chair and arranging his long legs before continuing, "I happened to have a talent for the blade and was trained accordingly, as I imagine happens amongst humans as well?"

As they found common ground to converse about and grew more comfortable, Varian was pleasantly surprised. Lor'themar was an excellent conversationalist—especially where martial disciplines and military history were concerned—as well as being deeply honorable and possessing a certain dry wit. In spite of his best efforts to remind himself that this was his enemy, Varian found that he had enjoyed meeting the Regent immensely and actually regretted it when he eventually excused himself from their conversation.

* * *

If he had any good humor left over from his surprisingly pleasant introduction to Lord Theron the day before it was quickly destroyed, though. Varian was nearly growling with irritation as he tramped along the trail leading from the Tournament Grounds into some of the surrounding area. That damn infuriating orc; Garrosh Hellscream might have been newly appointed Warchief but he was still a pain in the neck. Trying to pick a fight with Varian—in a sanctuary no less! In an effort to cool his temper and not have Jaina lecture him about trying to make nice with the Horde, Varian had set out in search of the cave that was supposedly on the Tournament Grounds.

Spotting what looked like the cave opening, Varian carefully entered, hand ready on the hilt of his sword in case he encountered something hostile. Inside the cave, he was surprised to find someone familiar was already there.

"Lord Theron," he greeted in surprise. The Regent was in the same plain but sturdy clothes as the day before; the hood of his cloak was pushed back and his pale hair was bound in a loose braid.

"King Varian," he acknowledged with a smile and a slight nod. "Have you come to explore the cave as well?"

Faced with the Regent's pleasant nature, Varian found his ire lessening, and he carefully navigated the rocky ground until he stood beside the elf.

"I'm afraid I've only come to get away from your Warchief," he answered honestly. Varian wasn't sure what kind of reaction to expect, but a rather inelegant snort wasn't it.

"Ah, I'm afraid I must apologize then, as your current predicament is something of my fault. It seems Garrosh heard that we managed to speak without coming to blows and was very upset by the idea." The Regent's droll statement drew a short laugh from Varian.

"I take it he tried to draw you into an altercation as well?" Varian asked.

"He tried," Lor'themar acknowledged, "but rather failed."

Varian glanced sidelong at the elf, taking in the greatsword at his hip and the practical armor he wore. "I wonder, Lord Theron," he began, thinking of the proper way to phrase his request, "would you be interested in a friendly spar?"

The Regent seemed to weigh his proposal a moment before smiling at him, "Of course, I'm sure they wouldn't mind clearing a training ring for a while…"

Varian cut him off, "I'm afraid you've misunderstood me, I meant would you be interested in a spar now?"

His eagerness must have shown on his face because Lor'themar gave him a sharp look, considering. Despite his efforts he could feel his fighter's spirit coming to the fore; residual anger from the confrontation with Garrosh and the prospect of what promised to be a great fight spurring it on. After a few minutes Varian became convinced that the Regent would turn him down, but then he saw the barest flicker in his eye; slowly a very different sort of smile spread over the elf's face. Varian felt his blood rush hot though his veins, singing with anticipation.

"Alright."

* * *

Varian knew he was grinning like a madman but he couldn't help it. It had been a long while since he had faced anyone of the Regent's caliber as a swordsman. They danced around each other, predicting moves and seeing through feints almost as though they had been sparring for years, blades rattling for the force of the blows traded. It had become more than a simple spar and neither of them seemed to care.

Lor'themar as quick and quiet as a ghost while Varian stalked and herded like the wolf of his heart. No blood had been spilled yet but Varian knew it was only a matter of time; the bloodlust slowly coming to both of them as well as another, more visceral feeling.

Their blades locked and Varian only nearly avoided being disarmed, Lor'themar's eye meeting his as the Regent smirked. Something about the amused quirk of his lips set off something deep in Varian's chest. Before he could adequately grasp what he was doing, Varian released his sword, leaning forward and kissing Lor'themar.

Shocked out of the reverie of the fight, he began to draw back, but Lor'themar tangled a hand in his hair and pulled him into a much more involved kiss. This close, he could feel warmth radiating from the elf, and was slowly drawn into responding, one of his hands falling to rest at the Regent's waist and the other looping over his shoulders to pull him closer.

Slowly their kiss became as much of a battle as they had just fought, both of them vying for dominance. Varian's stubbornness and Lor'themar's greater experience being equally matched in each other. Hands began to find buckles and clasps, searching out ways to free each other from the restraints of armour.

Stumbling back over an uneven patch of ground, Varian found himself sprawled over Lor'themar on his own heavy fur cloak. The Regent looked up at him, visible eye dark with lust, and Varian knew he must look much the same. They kissed again, slower this time; savoring the feeling of having someone so near. Lor'themar ran his claws lightly across Varian's back, the human shivering at the sensation.

They lost the rest of their clothes soon after, wrestling on the cloak until they settled on a position that pleased both of them. Varian with his back against the furs and Lor'themar burning against his front, riding him, head thrown back and long pale hair cascading over his shoulders. Then again, Varian being drawn into bruising kisses as he tangled between Lor'themar's legs. And again, Varian driving his hips forward as Lor'themar bit savagely into his shoulder.

Afterward, laying together panting and bloodied and sated, Varian looked over at Lor'themar. He knew he had gone too far, crossing the bounds of factions and loyalties. He knew he should feel ashamed, but all he could find in himself was satisfaction and contentment.


End file.
